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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914319">Round Two</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyowyn/pseuds/Lyowyn'>Lyowyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Humor, Other, Sex Toys, Smut, comedy porn, comedy smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:49:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyowyn/pseuds/Lyowyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Round two of the Olympic 30 Minutes Nonchalant Innocent Sit has begun, and it isn't really Crowley's best event.</p><p>Based on and inspired by "Gabriel and the Sofa of Sin," by GayDemonicDisaster</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Crack Fic Comedy Porn</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Round Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/gifts">GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885735">Gabriel and the Sofa Of Sin</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster">GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an unofficial sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885735">Gabriel and the Sofa of Sin,</a> written with permission from the author.</p><p>Be sure to read that one first. It's hilarious, and I had a lot of fun with my own take on the scenario.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley parked the Bentley outside of Aziraphale’s bookshop and waited a moment. Depending on whether the angel had been anxiously awaiting their date or gotten caught up in whatever book he was reading, Crowley may or may not have to fetch him out. In any case, he had a lot planned for the day. He could use a moment to mentally run through his itinerary, and he sometimes liked to just sit in his car outside the shop and listen to the engine purr.</p><p>Or, that was what he had meant to do, anyway, until Beelzebub spontaneously manifested themselves in the back seat like some fly-ridden Miss Daisy.</p><p>“Crowley,” they buzzed, causing him to snap his head back in surprise, not at all nonchalant.</p><p>The judges were bound to deduct points for that, which hardly seemed fair under the circumstances, as Crowley had yet to realize that he was participating in the newest and most popular of all Olympic events—The 30 Minutes Nonchalant Innocent Sit.</p><p>Being a demon, he'd never imagined that he would have made it past the qualifying rounds. Innocence just wasn't something that demons were cut out for. It wasn't in their nature. Now, if you wanted to talk about Olympic grade Lurking, Crowley could lurk with the best of them. He was a master of the 30 Meter Unaffected Swagger. He'd even been known to perform well in the Long Distance Unnatural Lean, but Nonchalant Innocence? No, that wasn't his event at all.</p><p>Still, you spend enough time with an angel, and you pick up a few things.And besides, nonchalant innocence and disaffected boredom looked very similar, and Crowley’s talent for disaffected boredom ranked right up there with punk teenagers forced to attend their parents’ dinner parties, and aromantic atheists at Catholic wedding ceremonies.</p><p>Crowley slumped back in his seat, sighed, and looked up into the rearview mirror over the tops of his sunglasses. “What do you want, Beez?”</p><p>“Our Lord hasz a taszk for you,” Beelzebub buzzed.</p><p>“Now isn't the best time,” Crowley said, “I have a… prior obligation.”</p><p>Beelzebub rapped their knuckles on the hinged, wooden top of the basket hamper on the seat beside them. “Taking your angel out for a picnic?” They asked, sounding disgusted. “You'll have to reszzchedule. Luzzifer’sz ordersz take preszcedence over your lunch plansz.”</p><p>Crowley had to fight to keep his face neutral, to not fix his eyes onto the hamper. Beelzebub started drumming their fingers on the lid in agitation. Crowley couldn't help but wince.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>The imaginary crowd of eager spectators sucked in a collective breath, as the stakes began to mount against Crowley.</p><p>Crowley was not picking Aziraphale up for a lunch date, unless you wanted to count whipped topping and chocolate sauce as lunch. Aziraphale would certainly argue against that. This was more of a dessert date, and angel food was the only thing on the menu.</p><p>Beelzebub ignored Crowley’s very clear intention to not do anything they said, and rattled off a lot of details about some world leader or other being in bed with the President of Someplace. Crowley didn't know if Beelzebub was being literal or metaphorical, and couldn't concentrate over the sound of fingers tapping against the top of the hamper.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>He clenched his jaw. He couldn't react. He couldn't look at the hamper. He couldn't slither around uncomfortably in his seat. Because, if he did any of those things, Beelzebub might <em>look</em> in the hamper, and it wasn't just filled with dessert toppings—though he had intended to use some of them while topping said dessert, or possibly having his dessert top him. He hadn't quite decided yet.</p><p>He pondered the question while Beelzebub buzzed on. He'd packed his favorite butt plug for their picnic. He could almost hear Aziraphale's little whimpers as he slid it in. If Beelzebub would go away, he could make Aziraphale wear it for the whole car ride. He could take the Bentley over every pothole from here to Sussex, and watch Aziraphale writhe and squirm in his seat.</p><p>Perhaps Crowley would wear one as well, until he was comfortably stretched. Aziraphale's favorite thing to do was pull it out, replace it with the nozzle of the can of whipped topping, and fill him up like the proverbial cream pie. Aziraphale would suck him out like an éclair; he'd use that strong pink tongue of his, so much better suited for that task than Crowley's, to find every bit of cream. The whole while, Crowley would be completely losing his mind, hissing and writhing, while Aziraphale made those pleased little noises of his and licked his lips.</p><p>After that, things would get really messy.</p><p><em>“We’ve seen this tactic before from the team from Great Britain</em>,” the imaginary commentator announced. “<em>It's a risky move. He's trying to avoid the discomfort of the situation by moving his focus away from the catalyst. It's sloppy technique. Yes, see there, Neil, his lips are moving into a smirk. That's going to mean a substantial loss of points.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“That's right, Terry. The judges don't look pleased at all. He’s been judged harshly before on his technical ability; the Russian judge in particular is very difficult to impress in that category. He's going to have to put a damper on those impure thoughts if he's going to manage any points at all for Innocence. Crowley has always had a much stronger showing in Nonchalance.”</em>
</p><p>“Are you even liszening to me, Crowley?”</p><p>Crowley jumped guiltily in his seat.</p><p>The judge’s pencils moved quickly on their pads as they marked off points.</p><p>“Of course I'm listening,” Crowley said. His eyes, safely hidden behind their dark glasses, darted to the hamper.</p><p>The members on the board of the Olympic Gaming Federation for Competitive Sitting were still engaged in a heated debate over whether the rules allowed for disguising eyewear.</p><p>“The big guy wants me to foment a bit of dissent and discord. No problem. I can foment all the discord you can shake a spoon at, but I'll have to start tomorrow. I'm booked solid today.”</p><p>“Booked szolid,” Beelzebub repeated, giving Crowley a murderous glare.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>He'd packed the entire contents of the toy aisle of his favorite sex shop into that hamper, and he planned on using all of it, but if Beelzebub didn't leave he might need to take Aziraphale in the back of the Bentley, <em>again</em>, just to relieve some of the tension. It would be quick and dirty, Aziraphale bracing his hand against the fogged-over window, tinted to keep pedestrians from looking in, forced into a tangle of limbs in the cramped space, struggling for leverage to deepen his thrusts, get just the right angle, desperate curses and endearments in the same breath.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>Crowley’s tight trousers had begun to feel very uncomfortable, almost painful. He shifted in his seat. The imaginary spectators let out a collective gasp. His performance was falling apart; he'd burst at the seams, under the pressure, at any moment. Calling a halt to the proceedings to repair a wardrobe malfunction would result in a 5-point deduction. Crowley’s already shaky performance couldn't afford that kind of point loss. It would surely remove him as a contender.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>“I just don't have time, Beez,” Crowley went on, as breezily as he could manage. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up into the mirror, seemingly to straighten it, but really using it as an excuse to watch Beelzebub’s hand on the hamper.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>Crowley cleared his throat.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>Crowley’s face twitched.</p><p>Tik.Tik. Tak.</p><p>“Sooooo,” Crowley drew out.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Thump.</p><p>“Do you think that I enjoy all of your idioczy?” Beelzebub asked. “Do you think it’sz worth my time to have to come up here and micromanage every szmall taszk? You eszcaped puniszhment, but you're sztill a demon, Crowley. You have work to do. The maszter has given you hisz ordersz. Now, do your job.”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah. Sure. No problem. Just as soon as I take care of this temptation that I'm about to perform now, I'll make it my top priority.”</p><p>“You expect me to believe that you're working.” Beelzebub knocked on the top of the hamper again, and coupled a skeptical brow-raise with a condescending head-tilt.</p><p>Crowley was about to protest the implication, and make all kinds of false claims about his work ethic, but Aziraphale decided to take that moment to walk out of the bookshop and give Crowley a cheerful wave.</p><p>“Oh really?” Beelzebub asked.</p><p>“Aziraphale is… helping,” Crowley claimed. “He's absolutely vital to the proceedings.”</p><p>The tapping started again as they watched Aziraphale lock the door to the shop and cross the pavement to slide into the passenger seat.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>“I hope you brought something scrummy for lunch,” he said, brightly, as he fastened his seatbelt, oblivious to both Beelzebub’s presence and the fraught situation he'd just entered into. “I plan to work up quite the appetite.”</p><p>“Lunch?” Beelzebub deadpanned.</p><p>Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose.</p><p>“<em>It isn't looking good for Crowley, out there.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Dire indeed, Neil.”</em>
</p><p>“Oh! Beelzebub!" Aziraphale's eyes widened. “What a… what a pleasant surprise. I didn't notice you there... How have you been? Everything… erm… going well, down in the pits?”</p><p><em>“This is almost painful to watch,” </em>the imaginary commentator went on. “<em>Aziraphale’s own performance in this event was met with favorable results from the judges, and the two have been known to work well as a team in the past, but I don't think that all the participants are playing on the same level today.”</em></p><p>“Would you like to join us for lunch?” Aziraphale asked.</p><p>Crowley groaned.</p><p>The audience held their breath.</p><p>Beelzebub's fingers tapped on the hamper.</p><p>Tik. Tik. Tak.</p><p>“Yesz. Fine. I haven't tried human food in a while. I szupposze I can join you for lunch, but then you had better get on with it, Crowley.”</p><p>Crowley was frozen in place, unable to speak, or move, or spontaneously combust in embarrassment, as the top of the hamper was opened with a <em>creeeaak</em> that sounded deafening inside the Bentley.</p><p>The crowd, judges, and commentators alike were on the edge of their seats. The Olympic Gaming Federation officials had stopped arguing to watch. The judge from Great Britain had chewed his nails down to the quick. The Russian judge was watching intently with cold eyes.</p><p>Beelzebub pulled a pair of edible underpants from the hamper, and held them up, pinched between thumb and forefinger.</p><p>Crowley moved like a striking snake, and snatched the Candypants away from Beelzebub. He didn't even hesitate for an instant before stuffing the whole wad of edible black fabric into his mouth.</p><p>The crowd went wild.</p><p>“<em>I can't believe it! I've never seen anything like it!”</em></p><p>Beelzebub frowned and took a more careful look into the hamper. Their pale skin developed a faintly green tinge. “Buszy with a temptation, you szaid. Working together. Aziraphale is abszolutely vital to the proczeedingsz.”</p><p>“Thash righsh,” Crowley said, around his mouthful of edible fabric.</p><p>There was a long moment while Crowley worked his jaw, struggling to swallow, and Beelzebub just stared at him. Aziraphale, still not at all aware of what was happening, or what Crowley was eating, just grumbled about sharing.</p><p>It was too much for Beelzebub. They made a tactical retreat and disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone in the car.</p><p>“<em>A creative last minute save from Crowley, but what will the judges have to say about it?”</em></p><p>The scores came in. Mostly 5.8 for technical ability, with a lower 5.5 from the Russian judge, and a 6.0 across the board for artistic interpretation.</p><p>“What is going on Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. “What was Beelzebub doing here? I thought we were going to have a picnic. What is that you're eating anyway? Is there more?” He reached blindly back into the hamper. “What on Earth is… <em>oh</em>.” Aziraphale drew his hand back, holding out a length of anal beads. “It's to be <em>that kind</em> of picnic, is it?”</p><p>“The Russians gave me a 6.0 for artistic interpretation, but if they want a display of technical ability, I'll show them what I can do in the Couples Freestyle Horizontal Tango.”</p><p>“You… You <em>what</em>?” Aziraphale frowned, concerned for Crowley's sanity.</p><p>“Shut up and get in the backseat, Angel. There's a ball gag around here somewhere, if you need a little help.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments of all shapes, sizes, and varieties are very much appreciated. I love to hear from you.</p><p>If you liked this, I do have a few other Good Omens fics. You can find them from my profile page.</p><p>Blanket permission is granted for all translation, podfic, and fanart- as always. So, if that's something you're interested in, feel free. My playground is your playground.</p><p> </p><p>Thanks for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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